


FFXIVwrite2020 Fills

by Big_Spicy_Garlean_Fucker



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Altered Mental States, Alternate Universe, Arranged Marriage, Courting Rituals, Family Issues, Fighting, Garleans (Final Fantasy XIV), Garlemald (Final Fantasy XIV), Gen, M/M, Magic, Medical Trauma, Mental Instability, Misgendering, Other, Resonance, Sparring, The Resonant (Final Fantasy XIV), Training, Tumblr: FFXIVwrite2020, Violence, oneshots, prompts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:54:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 9,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26315254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Big_Spicy_Garlean_Fucker/pseuds/Big_Spicy_Garlean_Fucker
Summary: A bunch of oneshots, drabbles and other assorted bits of writing for the FFXIVwrite2020 challenge. This is where I'm collecting the fills that do not ascribe to any of my canon verses - that is to say, these are all self-contained AUs.Centered around Lucius Batiatus, my Garlean OC who is commonly shipped with Varis zos Galvus.Individual works are tagged in the beginning notes for triggers etc, please read them.
Relationships: Varis zos Galvus/Lucius Batiatus, Varis zos Galvus/Original Male Character
Kudos: 5
Collections: Final Fantasy Write Prompt Challenge 2020





	1. 1 - Crux

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major warning here for gore, brutality, violence, murder etc. Guns and swords, and generally dogshit writing. This is like, the first thing I've written since my life basically collapsed in March so do excuse the quality.
> 
> If you like Zenos, DO NOT read this fic.

Lucius has never been much of a decision-maker. A follower, certainly, and a substitute leader when no one better was around, but a mover and shaker? Confident in his own choices? No.

He doesn’t quite know how he keeps getting into situations like these. Just a few months ago, he had made the conscious decision not to slaughter an entire Legion knowing fully well he had the power to, newly awakened to the Resonance within him and burning with the desire to kill. He had not, though there were a few medicii who were probably still traumatised from having dealt with him back then. It is no matter. Now, he must fight with the skills given to him, that he has made no effort at cultivating for he has truly had no need to. He must raise his voice and say _no_.

He is afraid.

He looks at his opponent, Zenos yae Galvus. One _very_ upset Zenos at that, katana in hand and bloodshot eyes glaring right through Lucius’s skull. He isn’t looking at him. He’s looking at Varis, who stands fully armored and holding his gun knowing fully well it will do nothing to protect him. Indeed, Lucius is all he has against the black-plated behemoth standing halfway across the room, his huge chest heaving with deep, soundless breaths. He isn’t even breathing. He’s collecting his aether and Lucius feels it and doesn’t know when he’s going to strike, only that he will and it will be _soon_ but how soon and how strong and –

**_*CLANG*_ **

Zenos’s blade connects with the edge of Lucius’s own and the cermet nearly splinters. He registers a blip of surprise in his foe – they both do; Zenos had not expected Lucius to meet his skill at arms in any capacity at all. Clearly, Lucius didn’t either. He freezes, doesn’t know what to do. This is his Prince. His former Legatus. His Emperor’s son.

_‘Kill him.’_

Zenos looks up. Varis is staring straight at him, thoughts burning through his mind. Zenos is on the lookout for them, anything that could alert him to a new avenue of attack, and Varis has caught him off guard. It’s meant for Lucius, of course, who hears his Radiance loud and clear and every cell in his body mobilizes to obey. He sidesteps the blade coming for him straight down and pivots on one heel, positioning himself behind Zenos. He goes for the back of his head with a point-blank bullet and Zenos has to duck, his armour cinches the backs of his knees and locks him for but a moment. Raw power coils from his feet out in a field beneath him, naked aethers rich and cloying to obscure Lucius’s senses. But Lucius knows exactly where he is and grasps the back of Zenos’s armour, hoisting himself up. Zenos slashes at him backwards and Lucius parries it, wincing at the shock to his gauntleted forearm. It’s his right arm; he doesn’t care about it, Zenos can have it if he wishes. His true strength lies in his left, and while his right still holds his blade, his eyes focus _in_. Right into the back of Zenos’s head, meeting at once the strongest psychic barrier he’s ever faced. He knows how to lobotomize people this way but isn’t going for that just yet – it’s the distraction he’s after, and Zenos’s aethers immediately turn to push him away.

_‘Kill him. **KILL HIM.** ’_

Varis has not made the escape Lucius is buying time for, he’s standing frozen in place with his eyes fixed on his son and lover locked in mortal combat. There is only one way out of this and that is death, something his entire family is woefully skilled at but none so much as Zenos. And Zenos is _losing_. He struggles to peel Lucius off his back with the huge, unwieldy pauldrons he has limiting his range of motion, but they’re clunking around so terribly that Lucius can’t keep his hold for long. He loosens his grip with a kick for distance – Zenos doesn’t even budge and in less than a second he’s turned around with his blade singing through the air. White-hot rage crackles through it an extension of his own fury, and it boils the air around them to shimmering waves. Lucius scampers back to bait Zenos away from Varis and Zenos doesn’t move, knowing right where he is and just what he wants to do. He turns to face Varis and steps to the left. A bullet zings past his head, buries itself into the throne. Varis raises his gun and Zenos just smiles, joyless and cold. And his face abruptly contorts, not left or right but _straight up_ as a hand fists his hair and pulls it right off his scalp.

The noise Zenos makes chills Varis’s blood to ice. The Emperor watches his son howling and screaming like a beast flayed alive, his beautiful golden hair tossed to the floor along with no small amount of skin. Wig thusly snatched, Zenos launches himself at Lucius who starts evading him in every step, reading into Zenos’s basic motions at the root of his spine. It is there that the nerve impulses are clearest, and now it will be a battle of stamina over all else. Lucius will not survive that. His stamina has already run treacherously low; footwork is one of his weakest points due to the sheer thickness of his thighs. He’s spent the last few months sitting on his ass and stuffing his face than doing any sort of training in the slightest. But Zenos doesn’t know that.

Lucius sets himself aflame, fire licking down his shoulders and arms to collect in his hands, where he swirls it up into a great storm around his foe. Zenos only starts screaming louder, things Lucius doesn’t understand in a language that is not their own. Varis continues to watch. It is plain Lucius does not know how to fight as a Resonant, his techniques all instinct and nothing else. The only reason he’s held himself against Zenos’s bladework is reflex and nothing more. That, and pissing him off. Now the prince’s attacks are fierce and erratic, slashing into space where Lucius once had been. He’s so accursedly _tall_ that Lucius can’t get a good shot at his head; he’ll dodge bullets and his armour will deflect any upward strikes. And Resonant though he is, Lucius can’t fly. His ass cheeks won’t let him.

Zenos closes the distance between them in a cloud of violet-red, stabbing at Lucius now with tendrils of crimson hate. If he cannot reach his father’s protector with his blade, then he will with his own strength. His aethers close around the lad and begin to squeeze, already strong enough to begin crushing the magitek gilding that would protect against all forms of magic. Lucius writhes, baring his teeth and tossing his empty gunblade to the side. He’s never been all that good with swords, and his aim has been off ever since they put the Resonance into him. Zenos reaches forwards and starts tearing his armour off, pauldrons first while his aethers sink deep into soft, supple flesh. It hurts, like he’s being boiled alive by a thousand flaming snakes coiling around him tighter and tighter. Lucius begins to panic for he has no defense against this and trying to focus a barrier of sorts will not do much against Zenos’s fierce corruption. It’s _inside_ him now, and were he not immune to such high temperatures he would surely have perished in an instant. He is nothing if not hardy, but trying to bat Zenos away is using energy he cannot recover and Zenos knows it. Their black and red eyes stare unblinking into each other, Lucius’s aethers are screaming in defense of his frantic mind, and all of a sudden Zenos is upon him.

Falling.

The floor cracks from the weight of them both, the five hundred ponze Legatus atop his former three-something Pilus. Zenos lies unmoving, blood trickling from around his third eye and down his nose, lips, chin. His mouth hangs agape. Varis has shot him right through the skull and it is over at last.

Lucius has not the strength to worm himself out from underneath the fallen prince and Varis comes to his aid, kicking Zenos aside to scoop Lucius up off the ground. The aethers have dissipated and no longer claw at his being, though the memory still lives beneath his skin. His muscles are twitching uncontrollably from wild adrenaline and tortured nerves that do not know how to interpret the signals they’ve been given. His mental defenses have been cranked so high that he can’t actually register what Varis is saying to him, or any real information about his surroundings at all. Inside, he is small and tired and in ever so much pain. But a part of him knows the threat is gone, and it allows him to rest.

He falls unconscious in his Radiance’s arms, blissfully unaware of what happens next.


	2. 2 - Sway

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lucius is 16 in this one and being arranged for marriage by his father. Several men make sexual advances towards him, and there's accidental physical contact at some point. If that makes you clutch your pearls in horror, maybe skip this.

It is a beautiful Spring day in Garlemald, where the biting chill of winter has given way to breeze and birdsong. Squillions of delicate blossoms fill the city streets and pile up in rooftop gutters, and a gentle golden glow warms even the sturdiest barred windows. Lucius sighs mournfully at the sight of pink flowers drifting by on the wind. How he aches to venture out and feel them between his fingers, poke them into his hair and feel the sun upon his ivory skin. But he is not allowed, his father says, for he is _too young_ to face the harshness of reality, the world outside. One overheard curse word from over the garden fence could spoil his blessed purity, Titus said, and his bastard chamberlain had the audacity to agree. Lucius pouts now as the man bustles about readying the parlor for today’s visitors – nobles of House Galvus, one of Garlemald’s most influential families. Titus and Solus were good friends, two stern patriarchs managing a vast array of children under their broad, stiff wings. Titus has arranged for the men to have first pick of his beautiful daughters – no matter how many times Lucius tells his father he is male, Titus will not hear it – and Lucius at sixteen is the youngest. Old enough to marry as of last week, and looking nothing like it. He is woefully small, ‘petite’ his father says, around the height of five and a half fulms barely grown large enough for his mother’s dresses. He does not like wearing them for they are too full in the chest and too tight in the hips but he does as his father commands. He bruises too easily for aught else.

They come to him one by one, obviously vying for his favor. It is the Garlean way for men to bend over backwards in the traditional courting rituals of eld, lavishing sweet supplication upon the object of their desire. Lucius has never traded words with a man outside of his immediate family and servants, and at once he knows this one does not care for him. He is six and four fulms with a hunch to his back, inky black robes swirling along the ground behind him. His hands are slim and white-gloved, his lips wine red and curved with such a dastardly smirk that Lucius draws his hand to his chest at once in alarm. He is Solus nan Galvus, the Republic’s most promising engineer, and the cloying scent of incense does nothing to hide the pungent ceruleum saturating his greasy hair. It makes Lucius hungry. He does so love the taste of _Blue_.

“Greetings, my good Lady.” Solus performs an exceedingly lavish bow, head dipped low enough to nearly throw his lanky form off balance. He takes a knee and peers up. “I have brought for you a little something of my own making – quite genius, I might add; there’s nothing quite like it in the world.” He certainly looks pleased, golden eyes gleaming bright as he presents with both hands a curious contraption resembling a metal colander. It opens up into hundreds of paper-thin petals with a series of whirs and clicks, bathed in a bright blue glow from the illuminated centerpiece. A dancing figure spins there seemingly carved of ice, and Lucius cannot take his eyes from the mesmerising sight. But even as his gaze is occupied, peripherally he becomes aware of what Solus is doing. Solus is holding the device above his head and taking a good long look at Lucius’s legs, as if studying the shape of them beneath his dress. Lucius has both legs tucked up under his backside in an instant and is sitting sideways on the chaise, cheeks flushed. He wants to take the steel flower, truly, he does. But he cannot quite chase the lyrical way Solus sang _Lady_ to him like that was all he’d ever be. Could he really listen to that voice, look at that face, for the rest of his life?

Solus nudges the flower to him. “Take it, my dear. Let it remind you of all we have accomplished.” The Garlean flag has been engraved into the base of it, and it twinkles invitingly. Strength in unity. A value all trueborn sons of Garlemald know well.

Lucius takes it gingerly, cupped in both hands and feeling the warmth spread through his palms. “It is lovely, Mister Galvus.” He hasn’t quite yet learned how to fake a genuine thank-you, but his etiquette lessons certainly haven’t gone to waste. He holds himself politely, proper but not prim, with his delicate platinum curls tumbling down his bare, broad shoulders. With a flutter of long, heavily-made lashes, he gives Solus the most innocent smile possible. “Might I ask your age and intent, good Sir?”

The fear on Solus’s face turns his smirking ghastly. “I- Er, fifty-six, to be precise, but…”

“Oh!” Lucius chirps, “The same age as my father! You shall be ever fast friends, he has quite the fondness for these new technologies.” He sets the delicate rose on the nearby table and toys with the petals. The sound of shuffling fabric and a weary sigh brings Solus’s efforts to a close. Lucius watches him slink off dejectedly towards the door, and doesn’t miss the middle finger he gives to the snickering chamberlain. When he’s gone, Lucius waves his hand. “Please send me someone who will not leave me widowed in twenty years’ time.”

“At once, milord.” Chamberlain Caio has had one too many macarons to the skull to call Lucius anything else. He fetches a strapping young lad from the receiving room nearby, ushering him into the parlor with a practised sweep of the arm. Zenos oen Galvus strides in wearing a three-piece suit that strains around his chest, crinkles at the shoulders and just barely holds around his huge, thick arms. Caio introduces him to try and pick Lucius’s jaw up off the floor. “This is Lord Zenos, milord. He’s the same age as you, and serves a promising position in the Militum.”

At that, Lucius perks up. Zenos crosses the room in three short strides and bows stiffly. A thread snaps. He promptly straightens right back up and clicks his fingers, at which a boy bearing a long rectangular case runs into the room. He holds it up for Lucius to inspect.

“Lady Batiatus.” Zenos growls, in a voice that suggests it can do no better. A shiver runs through Lucius’s whole body and Zenos _smiles_. It does not reach his eyes. “These are dangerous times we live in, and one such as yourself should be well equipped to defend your honor if one of us were to fall.” He gestures, and the top of the case is lifted to reveal two fulms of folded Dalmascan steel, a blade so fine merely looking at it brings to mind the cold, sharp slice of glass through skin. Lucius restrains himself from shivering again, though he feels cold now, and pulls a hand up to his mouth as if to guard himself. Zenos scoffs. “Do not tell me you are such a delicate little flower that the mere sight of functional weaponry ties your bloomers twixt your cheeks.” Across the room, Caio coughs into his handkerchief. Zenos’s icy blue gaze remains unwavering upon Lucius’s head, boring into his soothing opal eyes. He sees nothing desirable about this spoilt little morsel served on a cushion and done up to look all sultry. This is a trophy child at best and a conniving bitch at worst. So Zenos thinks, anyway, and his distaste shows in the corners of his lips, the heavily lid distaste beneath his eyes.

Lucius stares at the blade and glances away. “I… don’t think my father would let me have this… please, put it there.” The case is set on the nearby table and Zenos waves the boy off. As he scurries out of the room, Lucius gathers the courage to peer up into Zenos’s cold, calculating eyes. “I’m not a lady, you know. If my parents weren’t so insistent, I would be a soldier.”

“You? A soldier?” Zenos would laugh had he any of his boyish humor still alive within his heart. “Oh, please. The only thing I see you fighting for is first place at the dinner table.” He shakes his head and turns away. “Pfah. Enjoy the sword; do try not to harm yourself on the box.” Right out the door he goes, leaving Lucius with his lips parted and tears in his eyes.

 _‘Did- did he call me **fat**? What the hell? I’m wearing a bloody corset, and he calls me…’_ Fuming, Lucius scrunches his face up and nearly stuffs it into his arm in a right sulk, remembering at the last moment that he does indeed have makeup on and it’ll stain the sleeve of his dress something awful. He plucks at the nearby cake stand while waiting for the last man to try and garner his favour, hopes none too high for what the last son of House Galvus might have in store. He’s seen those Galvii and they’re big, brutish folk, towering over most Garleans sized upwards of eight fulms. Eight fulms! People didn’t even build doors to their houses that high! Hell, not even Lucius’s own father stood that tall, and if Titus’s grandstanding was to be believed, he had some pretty enviable genes. Lucius stuffs a pastry into his mouth without a care for how it reddens his lips and dusts his cheeks with powdered sugar. He’s white, it’ll blend in. Whatever.

The door creaks open and in walks Caio, leading a man who he whispers to watch his head before- * ** _thunk*_** _._

Lucius sits up, somewhat alarmed. At first he doesn’t know what he’s looking at, but then as the figure crouches and shimmies through the door _sideways_ , he realizes. That’s no too-large armor stand being presented to him for some ungodly reason. It’s a man standing eight and a HALF fulms tall, garbed in traditional Garlean black, red and white. His military frockcoat bears gold tasseled epaulettes, while gilded buttons and chains draw the eye to his huge, broad chest. A fluffy white cravat pokes out of his high, folded collar and draping from his three-fulm shoulders hangs an ankle length cape in deep, luscious crimson. Knee high military boots encase his long long legs, and Lucius’s gaze lingers below the waist just a touch too long to be considered polite.

“This is Varis van Galvus, milord. He…” Caio trails off at the sight of a massive black-gloved hand raised, demanding silence.

Varis approaches Lucius with the unmistakable gait of a military man, crisp, even strides bearing him across the room where he immediately drops to one knee with a flourish of his cape. It is a gesture born of function over fancy; the fabric pools behind him and does not snag under his boots as he kneels. He dips his flaxen head with utmost respect, the silken hiss of his hair cascading over broad shoulders drawing Lucius’s attention. How _soft_ it looks, how clean and well-kept. At once he desires to touch it, but does not dare lean forth lest he be accused of impropriety. Garlemald does have laws in place against such things, after all. But surely a hand would not be entirely remiss…

Lucius cautiously extends his left hand, bearing only a single purity ring upon one finger. Varis lifts his head and a hand too with thick fingers gently brushing Lucius’s palm, ever so light and trembling with restraint. He’s _huge_ , every single piece of him more than double Lucius’s size save the head. With dark lashes obscuring his golden gaze from view, he presses a reverent kiss to the back of Lucius’s hand, leaving him free to withdraw if he so wishes.

Lucius doesn’t. Instead, he turns his hand over slightly and trails his knuckles along Varis’s jaw, thumb running past his chin to the slight roundness of a jowl. Varis’s breath catches and he holds it, staying perfectly still. Lucius can’t believe he’s doing this. He’s touching another man, skin to skin, and his father is nowhere in sight. Could he… do more? Caio’s eyes upon him crush the thought at once. But the sudden, shaky exhale from Varis’s parted lips brings it back again, bolder, stronger. He cups Varis’s face in both hands and the man closes his eyes, the lines of tension writ across his chiselled features melting away. Lucius knows Caio can’t see what his fingers are doing. He strokes Varis’s beautiful, angular cheekbones and caresses deep into his hair, massaging his scalp with the points of his nails. Varis’s one hand drops to his knee, as it would be woefully improper to rest it on the chaise and take up space so near to where Lucius rests his body. He can’t remember what he was going to open with, whether it was a standard greeting or some prearranged praise. Now, he can’t think. His breath has been plucked from within his breast and sent to flutter among the clouds, and only this divinity lounging before him may retrieve it.

Lucius leans forwards, his hand slipping down Varis’s thickly muscled neck and into the collar of his coat. Varis’s pulse picks up almost immediately pounding away in his throat, to which Lucius presses two fingers to feel. “Good Sir…” he whispers, in a voice so light it could be mistaken for the silken sweep of his hair. “How handsome you are. You are a Legatus, are you not?”

Varis makes a low, strangled sound that most certainly does not pass for speech. Slightly alarmed, Lucius withdraws his hand.

“Please, rise. If you are uncomfortable…”

Varis shakes his head, and instead kneels properly with both legs tucked beneath him. Even so, his gargantuan form still reaches to meet Lucius’s face, chaise lounge and all. From within his coat he produces a small box, presenting it to Lucius not daring to look him in the eye. “This… is for you.”

Lucius blinks. His manner is odd, and stilted, and nowhere near as refined as his appearance suggests. But it is charming in its own way, this taciturn behemoth of a man clad in full ceremonial dress kneeling on the carpet like a common slave. Lucius accepts the box graciously, but not before reaching to trail his fingers along Varis’s gloved hand and feel a sliver of his skin. He’s _warm_ , like most Garleans are, and hairy. On a whim, Lucius pulls his glove away too, and the fleece-lined leather slips away with ease. Lucius pretends as if it is the most normal thing in the world, stealing a man’s glove with absolutely no intention of giving it back. He opens the box and at once his face lights up as kindling to a flame.

“What is this?” He plucks between two fingers a fine, delicate chain that shimmers purple one moment, gold the next. The gem hanging from it is unlike any he has ever seen before, a gorgeous droplet of magenta hues with a little translucent glow. “It’s beautiful…”

“Su…Sugilite.” Varis clears his throat as politely as he can. It sounds like a stuttering ceruleum engine. “Gel, the purest form. It is… the rarest gem of all the lands, and I thought it fitting for a t-treasure such as you.” He’s looking at his glove, set nicely in Lucius’s lap. He must be careful not to offend the lad with his bare, unsightly hand. It slips down to rest upon his knee and is brought back up again moments later. Lucius is leaning forth, holding the necklace out to Varis.

“Will you put it on for me?” Their faces are mere ilms apart, and Lucius’s cleavage hangs tantalisingly low just beyond Varis’s line of sight. Lucius’s pure, sweet face fills his vision and Varis forgets what he was asked, cheeks darkened and eyes wide unable to do anything but stare. Lucius leans in just a little closer and presses the necklace into his hands – he was wringing them and now he isn’t. “It’s okay. You can… if you like.”

“A-aah, yes, of course. Milord.” The title sounds strange on the lips of such a prestigious man, but Varis makes use of it all the same with a subtle dip of his chin. His third eye twinkles at Lucius’s as if inviting them to touch, but Lucius knows that is something for married folk only and most certainly not appropriate here. Varis takes the necklace dwarfing it in his massive, meaty fingers and reaches back around Lucius’s neck. He only needs to clasp it there and be done, but takes his sweet time in fiddling with the mechanism before accidentally dropping one half into Lucius’s bust. He reaches for it on instinct, he doesn’t want the gem to get lost after how much he paid – and finds himself with one bare hand around a soft, supple breast.

Varis’s brain stops. He swears his heart does, too.

 _‘Ah. I suppose I’m going to be shot, now._ ’ Mortified, he whisks his hand away stammering countless apologies,while Lucius sits there frozen with his pale cheeks aflame. The necklace comes to rest just inside his cleavage and isn’t going anywhere yet, but Varis looks like he has just singlehandedly doomed their race to extinction and is going to pay for it dearly. He stuffs his hand in his pocket and can hear Caio wandering over just to see what’s the matter, Lucius has one nipple out as it’s spilled over his corset and what can he do, what can he _do?_

He does the only thing he can. He stands, blocking the chamberlain’s view with his huge, imposing body and Caio just about shits himself at the sight. Lucius hurriedly stuffs himself back in and secures the necklace properly, though his mind will not cease replaying the sensation that spread through his body just moments prior. The electrifying heat that now pools in the pit of his stomach and tingles through his limbs, setting his fingers aquiver as they drag back through his hair. He looks up… and up… and up until his vision blurs, and tugs on the back of Varis’s coat. Varis jerks, turning around and taking several steps back. Slowly Lucius rises from his seat with a red hot flush spread right down his chest, eyes blazing desperately.

“Lord Galvus,” Lucius breathes, “May we… take a walk outside? The gardens are lovely this time of year, and I… I would much like to show you.” Without thinking, he grabs hold of Varis’s ungloved hand and Caio nearly faints.

“Milord, you simply mustn’t! It is far too soon, whatever will your father think?”

Varis blinks. Lucius is squeezing him painfully tight, and would probably break his fingers were he not so ridiculously strong. “Does… Lord Batiatus take issue with our courtship?” His voice has changed, no longer strained and stuck but deeper, resonant with authority. Caio gulps.

“Er, well, you see today… today was merely a matter of first meetings, and while it is _wonderful_ that the young Master has taken such an interest in you, I…” He looks at their joined hands. “…Save that for the altar, will you?”

Lucius reluctantly pulls his hand away and folds both before himself, looking away. Varis wants to go back for his glove, but he can’t, not now. The light and airy parlor suddenly feels quite suffocating, and he would much prefer to be outside enjoying the Spring breeze. Preferably with Lucius, so he can apologize properly.

“We will be but a moment.” says Varis, and makes for the door. Lucius has to scurry to keep up with his much shorter stride, and soon enough they pass Solus and Zenos who make no comment or get in their way. Outside. Freedom, at last.

They’re not three fulms from the guarded door when Lucius tugs on Varis’s coat and bids him bend to listen. Varis does.

“Please don’t make me go back there again.”


	3. 3 - Muster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for corporal punishment and abuse in a military context.

As this work is considered part of Lucius's canon, you can find it as a standalone piece [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26315410).

<https://archiveofourown.org/works/26315410>


	4. 4 - Clinch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A cheeky bit of fighting. Drabble, with meat.

“Come on. You _insult_ me with your-” Varis narrowly dodges a fist aimed at his face, cool air rushing past his chin. “That’s more like it.” He hasn’t felt this alive in decades nor so exposed, trading blows in the courtyard with his secretary like they’re not the two most powerful men in Garlemald. Lucius doesn’t want to hurt him and Varis knows it, but propriety be damned, _maybe he wants him to_. So far, Lucius hasn’t managed to land a single hit of substance on his Radiance and Varis has been trying to goad him into fighting properly. He’s quick with the arms and sluggish in footwork, and wearing nothing but a pair of too-tight subligar is proving to be more distracting than fierce. Varis can’t quite make sense of the lad’s center of gravity, nor can he keep his eyes away from Lucius’s massive ass clapping every which way.

“Stop staring at me, Var. Rip my arms off.” Lucius sounds almost _bored_ – stilted and awkward, he doesn’t know how to tease his Emperor. Doesn’t want to piss him off, not truly, for his job and life hang on Varis’s every whim and Lucius has been fired by a Galvus before. It wasn’t pretty. “Your Radiance!”

“What?” Varis lunges for him and Lucius steps back, then again and again as Varis chases him. “Rrgh, c’mere.” He tackles Lucius to the ground and flattens him at once, though he’s back up again to give the lad a fighting chance. Lucius groans, breathless and flushed.

“That- I think that’s your win, haah.” He reaches up for Varis to scoop him into his arms and Varis does, squeezing tight.

“Try to escape.” Varis growls, swinging Lucius around like a ragdoll. “Let me see your technique.”

“Nyeeaeaeaaegh!” Lucius can feel his brain slopping around inside his skull from the way Varis shakes him, and slips his hands up between his Radiance’s thick arms. Grasps Varis’s biceps and struggles to maintain his hold without digging his nails in. “Tha- that doesn’t hurt, yeah?”

Varis rolls his eyes. “Stop treating me like a kitten. I could rip you in half by the shoulders alone if I so chose.”

“Mmm…” Lucius has to admit, he likes the sound of that. He struggles in vain to free himself, muscles rippling with the effort of pulling Varis’s arms away. He strains and strains with legs flailing about, and not even his augmented strength is enough to win his freedom. Not without breaking his Emperor’s forearms clean in two, and he definitely doesn’t want to do that. “Nnh, oh, I do think you’re… stronger.”

“Bullshit.” Varis lifts him higher off the ground, allowing Lucius to wrap his legs around his neck. “Here, squeeze as tight as you can. I’ve had this accursed head upon my shoulders for far too long.”

Lucius narrows his eyes. “So no head? Is that what you want? Awful shame.” His thick thighs close around Varis’s skull and squeeze away, though try as he might he only succeeds in inviting his Emperor to nibble his buttery soft flesh. Then bite. “OW!” He whacks Varis right in the third eye and Varis drops him at once, stumbling back. Immediately he realizes his mistake. “Ah, shit! Radiance, please forgive me…!”  
Varis crouches down, hand over his face. As Lucius draws near to start fussing over him Varis reaches out and grabs him by the shoulder, pulling him close. Whispers something, then lets him go. Lucius’s face flushes rose pink, then deep red spreading all the way down his chest and stomach. He unpicks the ties of his subligar.

“Well… if you insist.”


	5. 8 - Clamor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for mental illness/instability, referenced suicidal ideation and general Resonant fuckery.

This fic is a standalone work of sorts, and you can find it [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26369572).

<https://archiveofourown.org/works/26369572>


	6. 9 - Lush

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains stuffing/feederism/fat kink and Lucius getting he minge ate.

This one is posted as a stand-alone work which you can view [here. ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26386192)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26386192


	7. 12 - Tooth and Nail

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags: violence, murder, blood, gore, fighting, no I really mean it about the gore, and of course good ole Resonant bruh moments
> 
> zenos is also there
> 
> (noncanon unless I decide to fit it somehow w/ Lucius's backstory, he can probably fight senseless creatures quite well but has trouble with things that have a conscience)

“Batiatus. Let us start you off with something simple.” Zenos’s lips move subtly through the shape of each word, his true meaning hung heavy in the back of his throat. _‘Let’s get this over and done with. If you can’t fight, you deserve to die.’_

Lucius can barely see let alone register what Zenos is telling him, stood in the center of Castrum Abania’s testing arena. A magitek shield has been erected to keep out the environmental aethers and other interference, something Lucius is quite grateful for as his skin has only just stopped crawling from the residue in the air. He isn’t suited up for protection, and just two weeks from the labs he’s unbelievably sensitive to even the slightest change in surroundings. There’s no natural aetherproofing here. But Zenos had it done for the purpose of this fight – Lucius against a lone Hypertuned, who was twice his size and visibly shaking with murderous intent.

Lucius eyes his foe who hunches in his cage, straining to bend the reinforced bars with all his might. Zenos stands on the observation platform along with twenty or so researchers, Aulus off to one side pointing several handheld instruments at their subject. Lucius is the one being studied here, and the collar around his throat flashes as his awareness increases. Now, at least, he can feel the eyes upon him and sense the ceruleum running through all the machinery in a two malm radius. Louder than ever, the hum of Aulus’s remote screams in the back of his mind. One wrong move and that thing will have him seizing on the ground. And he’s pretty sure he can’t fly, knock it out of the man’s hand and demand to be treated like the loyal, trueborn son of Garlemald that he is.

No. Here, he is a soldier, a subject, and soon to be a scrap on the sand if he doesn’t focus. The creature before him is barely human, only vaguely bipedal in stance with huge, muscular arms covered in twisted growths. With bright orange eyes and greenish grey skin this Hypertuned seems to have once been a Roegadyn male, though the spiked protrusions from his skull do give Lucius pause. An Au’ri hybrid, perhaps? It is no matter. The cage begins to open slowly and the creature sticks his hand under the opening, forcing it up.

“Go!” Zenos shouts, and leans over the railing to enjoy the fight. His precognition is a good few seconds longer than Lucius’s but he still wants to drink in the sight of claws through skin and limbs torn from their sockets. Lucius backs away at first, wielding only a pair of steel knuckles with six-ilm talons for extra stabbing power. The creature lunges at him screaming gibberish and swinging blindly with no tact or thought – no premeditated attacks for Lucius to read. Lucius dodges the first blow to his head and narrowly escapes a grapple from one large hand aimed for his throat. Trying to read this thing consciously is no good, and so he has to rely on his augmented reflexes to keep him out of harm’s way. They certainly are close, with little more than a hair’s breadth between contact.

“STAB HIM!” Zenos roars, eager for first blood. Lucius’s knee-jerk obedience drives a swift puncture into the creature’s gut and he nearly takes his own head off trying to pull the claws back out. Thick, viscous goop pours from the Hypertuned spattering Lucius’s bare chest – he’s in traditional Republican garb for this fight, having found the searing heat of Gyr Abania absolutely intolerable with any substantial clothing on. His aethers were a naked flame, Aulus had said, spread through his body and settling at sixty degrees. It was a wonder he hadn’t boiled himself alive yet, but evidently his body could repair itself faster than it could break down. He’d acclimatize in all due time. Using said aethers was another story.

“Yes! Now set him ablaze!” Zenos commands it and Lucius tries, he really does, but has absolutely no clue how to shoot fire from his hands having never done so before in all his life. He staggers back as the Hypertuned hits him square in the chest, reaching to grab him by the shoulders. Lucius skitters away and his legs are getting tired, yet his foe just keeps coming. Fanged maw gnashing as if to eat him alive and trembling hands always, always going for his throat. Lucius slashes across to intercept a blow and the Hypertuned promptly grabs him by the wrist- that, he hadn’t seen coming. His left wrist, too – the hand he writes with.

He panics.

“NyeeeeEEAAAAAAGH!” Lucius drives his right hand up into the creature’s snarling face, his talons just long enough to reach and poke the thing’s eyes out. Smoke begins curling from his bare shoulders and arms, growing thicker and thicker with every passing second. The fingers wrapped around his wrist sizzle and blacken and the Hypertuned lets him go, reeling back and screaming.

 _‘Threat. Loud, painful. Attack.’_ Lucius lunges for the thing’s face once more, knowing full well that not many creatures will survive a decapitation. He can feel Zenos’s vicious delight empowering him, egging him on to rend, maim, kill. Over and over again the words drum through his skull and he is but a slave to their demands. The Hypertuned grabs him by the torso and Lucius stabs him in the face, his entire upper body bursting into white-hot flame. He does not know how to control his power, scarcely aware of it peeling away his flimsy leathers as he thoroughly eviscerates his foe from the neck down. The head hangs backwards on a few muscular threads and Lucius just keeps going, shredding through layers of flesh and bone in an unrelenting flurry of godless rage. The body hits the floor and he is still upon it, stabbing over and over again into the ground as the talons break from the force and he digs huge divots in the sand – he scoops out the Hypertuned’s still beating heart and pulverizes it, a delirious, manic grin splitting across his face.

Zenos leans over the railing, drinking in the unbridled bloodthirst awakened in his pretty little Pilus. “Ohhhhh, yes. That’s it. Finish him, Lucius.”

“Er, Lord Zenos, I do think it’s already dead…” One of the researchers speaks up and Zenos pays them no heed. Aulus, for his part, is relishing the data scrolling through his instruments and will have a grand old time back in the Resonatorium charting it all. Lucius only now begins to calm as he sits over the mangled body of his foe, naked, shivering and no longer aflame. The glow in his eyes has faded and his jaw hangs agape, panting, fanged teeth dripping with bloodied saliva. He looks up. Zenos is grinning at him. Lucius smiles back.

“Another.”


	8. 14 - Part

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mentioned genocide and guerrilla warfare in discussion
> 
> paranoid Varis is paranoid lol

“You’re not going anywhere.” Varis stands before his desk with arms crossed, brow set in a more folded scowl than usual. His handsome features have crumpled up much like a wet paper bag with two golden eyes staring piercingly through his secretary’s skull. Lucius is much more than that to him, but heavens forfend he actually say so. “What do you think the savages will do if they feel your aethers through the wall and think you’re an eikon? An eikon under _my_ command?” He remembers what happened at Castrum Fluminis. The Eorzeans do, too.

“Do you hear yourself, Radiance?” Lucius shakes his head, and by now his hair’s grown long enough to fluff about his face in a lush, curled bob. “An eikon? Me, just some random Garlean soldier who so happens to be serving you directly-”

“They know what you are, Batiatus. They have people who can see these things, those thrice damned Scions most of all. I read your notes. What you have is based on their ‘Echo’, giving you the visions of the past and future they were born with. If they detect you when I’ve already agreed to come unarmed, with no more than two guards and no ‘tricks up my sleeve…’

“And you’re really going to? Risk your life for some false notion of honor those vapid curs can’t even comprehend?” Lucius takes an emboldened step into his Radiance’s personal space, squinting up at him trying to catch a read. Even as his eyes gleam Resonant red, he can’t catch anything beyond the strange fear his collar lets through. “Take this off. I want to see what’s bothering you.”

“No.” says Varis, and looks away. Now, Lucius knows something is wrong. The Emperor gestures for him to move away and Lucius doesn’t, only closing what few ilms remain between them and pressing his face into Varis’s chest. He can only manage because he’s wearing heels. Varis stiffens. “Batiatus…”

“Radiance, _please_. Don’t… don’t make me stay here and worry for you when there’s so much more I could be doing. I could protect you-”

“Against all seven of them, plus the eikon-slayer? Really?” Varis wraps his arms around Lucius and pries him away, lifting him up off the ground with ease. He stares into the man’s eyes begging him for something Lucius cannot read. “…You may be skilled, but you are not a God. That… that _thing_ they’ve been throwing at us for the past few years…”

“I was there, when they stormed the Praetorium. I read every report on their slaughter in Gyr Abania, and how Zenos himself thought them a worthy foe.” Lucius shakes his head and makes no attempt to wrest himself free from his Emperor’s iron grasp. He likes it, really. Being held. “I’m not fucking scared of them.”

Varis’s eyes widen a touch, his thin lips parted in a soundless query. Evidently, Lucius wasn’t as mentally sound as he thought. “I will not let you die.”

“And I won’t let _you_ die, so what’s the big deal? With all due respect, I can read every sneaky tactic that lot will consider before they make a single move. You’re afraid of them acting against you because they know you have protection on your side – you don’t trust them, and you’re right not to. But think about it, if they…” Lucius screws up his face, thinking hard. It’s really not his strong suit, but he tries. “If they attack first, on the basis of you having a guard just a bit stronger than all of them combined, you’ll be very much able to declare war right then and there.”

“We’re already at war!” Varis cries, shaking Lucius back and forth. Lucius’s penetrating gaze remains immovable. “Stop _looking_ at me like that – you think I don’t know how these peace talks are going to go? They’re going to demand some unreasonable **bullshit** and probably try to assassinate me the minute my back is turned. That’s why I’m not going to antagonize them or try to find common ground. I know how to negotiate, boy. I’ll come back.”

“Like hell you will. What are you even going for? So you can say you tried to make peace and they demanded war? For information? Going to offer them the eikons-damned olive branch so they can set it on fire and spit in your face? No, I’m not going to stand for that. Will you please just turn this thing off so I can _help you_?” Lucius bares his throat, the suppression collar flickering along with his racing pulse. Varis promptly draws him into a crushing hug and buries his face in Lucius’s warm, soft hair, thick arms locked crushingly tight around the man’s waist.

For a time Varis is silent, sharp angles of his face digging into Lucius from the force of his embrace. Lucius can’t breathe, instead sucking in what oxygen he needs through his feeble wind aethers. He waits. And waits. And only after about a minute does Varis speak.

“I’m not taking any chances when it comes to you.”

Lucius blinks. “…You’re the _Emperor of Garlemald_ , Varis. I’m just some guy. Tell me that makes logical sense, for you to traipse off into enemy territory with two fucking guards against a band of cunts who’ve annihilated ten whole eikons, two Legions too. Maybe more. Tell me, look into all three of my eyes and tell me you think that’s a good idea.”

“I never said it was a good one.” Varis puts Lucius down, feeling him begin to struggle. “D-don’t…”   
Lucius wrenches himself away and gasps for breath, doubling over. “Fucking shit. You really do want to die, don’t you? Want to abandon the millions of our people desperate for space to live and waiting for their enlisted family members to come home. I genuinely don’t know why you haven’t just arranged for the meeting with a sky patrol and a few megatonze warheads waiting up above. Take out the leaders and you’re golden. Honor or not, it works.”

Varis’s thinly guised horror bleeds into thorough distaste, then regret. “You really are my son’s Pilus. He’d advocate the exact same thing, the-”

“No, he’d drop right into battle suicidal and crazed _just like you_. I’m going with you, Radiance, and I don’t care if you have to split the Soranii apart or whatever. I’ll protect you from things you didn’t know existed. Even the eikon-slayer.” Lucius presses his hand right into the meat of Varis’s chest. “Understand?”

Varis groans softly. He doesn’t know why he can’t just harden up and threaten to fire Lucius for his ridiculous insubordination, shoot him right then and there, go back to handling the duties of his Empire alone… But he can’t. He looks into Lucius’s earnest, demanding little face and can deny him naught. “…If you come with me, you’re not going to be assassinating anyone.”

“Oh, of course. I’ll mind my own business plenty, stand by the door for hours, whatever you need.” Lucius’s voice is lighter and quicker now, hands flicking about as he chirps excitedly. “Standard infantry gear? I don’t even need a blade.”

Varis sinks his face down into his hands and wonders just what he’s gotten himself into. It seems they won’t be parting ways after all – and he’s relieved in a way, for if Lucius does somehow perish at the hands of the Eorzean Alliance, then he’ll have a proper good reason to genocide them all. Just like his grandfather.

_“Yes, just like me.”_

Varis curtly glances to the darkest corner of the room. Wine-dark lips curl sinister and suave, completely beyond Lucius’s detection collared as he is. Varis closes his eyes.

_“Just… like… me.”_


	9. 15 - Ache

This has been posted as a standalone work - not sure how canon it is bc i have one fucking brain cell when it comes to my ship but 

you can read it here <https://archiveofourown.org/works/26488951>


	10. 16 - Lucubration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (not canon I don't think, Lucius ain’t traumatised enough for this to be part of his process training)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> he do a magic!!!

None of it makes sense.

Lucius has been staring at the invocation sigil at his feet for thirty minutes now and hasn’t the slightest clue what to do with it. The tome in his hand isn’t helping either, depicting shapes and gestures he mimics in perfect sequence to no avail. How is he supposed to ‘harness his aether’ and ‘feel the energy’ of something he barely understands? There’s been an itching, tingling sensation beneath his skin gnawing at him ever since he acquired his Resonance three weeks ago. Scratching and surging through his veins like a wrathful horde of ants. If that’s his aether, he sure as hell doesn’t want it.

“Come on.” says his tutor, little more than a man’s voice through the intercom on the wall. It isn’t safe to be around Lucius with his power unbound, after all. “Focus.”

“On what?” Lucius’s neck has begun to ache from staring so intently at the sigil – he’s practically burned the pattern of the thing into his eyes. “I don’t feel anything, just some… itching.”

“Then focus on that. And don’t complain, now; Lord Zenos will be terribly displeased if you can’t produce the required results. Right hand up, eyes forward. Channel your energy from the floor and out.” The voice, calm and patient though it is, doesn’t sound all that hopeful. Lucius swears he hears a ragged sigh crackle through and now he _has_ to do something or there’ll be trouble. If Zenos hears he hasn’t been _trying_ …

“Nng.” He extends his right hand and stares at the far wall, eyes struggling to adjust. The room is stark white and panelled in solid aetherproofing so nothing gets in or out. There are no distractions. He knows what the book told him to do, and his instructor too. But try as he might, Lucius cannot produce aught but an awful tension through his form. His long, pale fingers are stiff and spread, the incantation repeats over and over again even on his lips in a silent whisper, but nothing comes. No glorious surge of power, no heat in his palm. Just relentless, distracting tingles all along his forearms and back up again – they don’t even reach his fingertips.

Frustrated, he claps the tome shut and drops his hand. As he turns to signal his failure to the camera watching – there are several, but this one is just by the door – the intercom chirps at him.

“There, there’s smoke!”

Lucius blinks. Down by his left there are indeed wisps of grey curling from where his fingers hold the beginner spellbook now looking rather charred at the edges. He drops it in an instant and withdraws his hand. “It- it wasn’t me.” It’s a magic tome, surely it must have some power of its own.

“Show me your hands.”

Lucius obeys, holding up his palms to the camera. A fading glow can be seen through the pale pink nails of his left hand. “It’s… my left? I mean, I do write with this one, so…”

“Quickly, try the spell again. Throw it right at the target with the aim to destroy it.”

Turning on his heel Lucius whips his hand through the air so fast it burns and a column of flame suddenly engulfs his whole arm, searing embers swirling in a vortex of dry wind. He stumbles back shrieking in fright, hair plastered against his skull and eyes screwed shut expecting it to melt his skin off in seconds. The more he panics, the fiercer the winds rage around his flailing limbs trying desperately to put the fire out. He’s nude, so there are no clothes to stick to him and burn – it’s all coming right off his skin and not only is he terrified – Luicus feels _alive_. Like the molten core of the earth has risen within him and flows white-hot through his veins, more than just adrenaline – it is energy, pure and simple, and it is _his_.

“Yes! That’s it!” His tutor encourages him despite being unable to see anything more than a bright orange blur. “Oh, Lord Zenos will be so very, very pleased! Try to calm it, now, you don’t want to use too much of your strength.”

Lucius is having far too much fun with having set himself on fire and feeling it lick at his skin so comfortingly he doesn’t want it to stop. Tongues of flame wrap him in sheer invulnerability and for the first time in his life, he feels _safe_. Maybe a little high, too. And he most certainly isn’t exhausted.

Whatever else they want him to study can’t possibly hold a candle to this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really tried to break my perfectionism with this one!


	11. 17 - Fade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> VARIS GETS HIS HAIR PET AND ITS GLORIOUS

This piece is a part of LuciVaris canon and can be viewed [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26521960).

<https://archiveofourown.org/works/26521960>


	12. 19 - Where the Heart Is

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one is actually canon!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lucius and Varis happily married and all cozied up together, with some sexual innuendo. Mostly - MOSTLY - SFW.
> 
> Fluff!

It is said that home is where the heart is. For Lucius, it is not so. It has never been so – home has never been a place for him, and his heart has always remained firmly inside his ribcage. At least until the day he joined hands with Varis zos Galvus and knew true peace. Love, security and stability. Everything he’d ever wanted.

Everything he’d been denied since the day he was born.

In a way, he could always consider Garlemald his home. He would, as here he was born and raised and instilled with a deep love for his country, to the point where it eclipsed any semblance of love for himself. He still tears up at the national anthem and dreams of a world united under the ivory standard. Varis does, too. But it isn’t what they need right now, or ever – more war, suffering, and military expenses the Senate certainly doesn’t approve of.

No. Now, they have their Empire and borders and everything set in stone. They don’t _need_ Eorzea, though the East wouldn’t hurt. Dalmasca still remains under Imperial rule, and is so thoroughly reinforced with soldiers and guards that another rebellion would end before it started. They’re leaving the Nagxian jungle alone, and have started rebuilding Bozja as a place for working-class aan to earn their keep. It’s all well and good. Everyone has a place to be.

Lucius curls up beside Varis this afternoon before the fireplace – it’s the middle of winter, the windows slats have been frosted shut for months and the whole palace has its ceruleum heating cranked up to the max. He’s keeping his Radiance warm. Varis’s massive hands are up in his sweater and caught between his thighs, which melt together no matter how far apart they spread. Lucius idly sips at some spiced wine in a large goblet meant for Varis but now apparently his. It warms him just that little bit more inside with his fiery aethers already setting his body at sixty-some degrees, cheeks flushed rose pink and pastel striped sweater keeping him nice and cozy. He isn’t wearing pants. Varis gropes at his breasts and gazes in thoughtful silence into the fireplace as he so often does when they’re together, needing no mindless chatter or tiring task to busy himself with. He’s happiest when with Lucius in silence and comfort, skin to skin without any work or distractions or – stars forbid – _people_.

Here is where his heart is.

Finally, he is home.


	13. 28 - Irenic

“Peace? That’s what you want?”

Lucius sits calmly with his hands folded in his lap, directly opposite where his Radiance lounges on a long, plush chaise. Varis’s dulcet tones pitch up and down in disbelief as he asks again. “ _Peace_? _”_

They’ve been here for only fifteen minutes and already it feels like they’ve been arguing for years. Lucius sucks in a slow, deep breath. He nods.

“You want it just as much as I.”

“Oh, like hell I do!” Varis props himself up on one arm to glower into his secretary’s earnest gaze – it coldens to match his own. “I want to put every last one of those savages in the ground for what they’ve done to our people, to bring them all to heel under the ivory standard, to stop them sucking the very soul from the world with their summonings and sorcery and-”

“A _part_ of you wants that, Radiance. The other part knows the cost in Garlean lives if we were to continue this war. We’re only ten Legions strong, now. _Twenty thousand_ have died, including your _son_.”

“Bah.“ Varis cuts his gaze to the left where Zenos’s old katanas have been mounted on the wall. “So I’ll make another. With you.” He’s supposed to look at Lucius when he says that, but only continues glaring sideways. Lucius says nothing. Only when Varis sits up properly and runs a hand back through his hair do their eyes meet, if but for a moment. “…Don’t look at me like that. If we don’t assert our position the whole lot of them will pinch us in concerted effort to burn Garlemald to the ground. They’ll start with the provinces, and then they’ll come for us.”

Lucius frowns. “That…” He trails off. The contours of Varis’s gargantuan body have begun to blur, face shifting in a myriad of bright colours ill-placed on his dour features.

“We should just kill them all, every last one. Bomb them to the ground and move the _aan_ in to start new pockets of society – make them work for it.” Varis’s voice now matches his words, jagged and rasping like a tank rolling over dry gravel. His form shifts again, shadows scratching at the corners of Lucius’s vision with a sense of **_danger, run_** _._

Lucius jumps right up and at once is back in bed, fluffy blonde bangs plastered to his searing brow and third eye aching all the way back through his skull. The glow of his wide open eyes illuminates the room in shades of crimson, sparkling highlights marking the supports of their tall, canopied bed. Immediately he looks to the right, presses both hands to Varis’s bare chest. He’s alive, breathing, very much asleep and with no Ascians inside him as far as Lucius can tell. Lucius stuffs his face into Varis’s neck and curls up, shivering.

_‘I… I have to tell him. Soon.’_

Lucius has, after all, seen the Ascian. Felt him in the darkest corners of the loneliest rooms in the Palace, heard in dreams how he would twist Varis’s words to usher in the end of the world. Varis doesn’t even know. He can’t sense the heavy, oppressive presence with a thousand thousand eyes always fixed upon him, and Lucius too with a comically grandiose hate. Lucius exhausts himself daily trying to barricade Varis’s vulnerable mind from the potential threat, on edge and waiting for it to make a move. He hasn’t had the conversation with Varis yet about how they’re going to end the war. It’s been three years since Ala Mhigo fell. Morale in the Militum is utterly abysmal and the provinces are beginning to revolt.

Lucius nuzzles for warmth and comfort in the crook of Varis’s shoulder. Broad enough to pillow his head yet a little bony in places. _‘I know you’re trying your best. But we can’t… can’t fight a war on two fronts. This, this creature, demon, whatever it is… it’s coming for you. When it does, I don’t know if I can protect you…! I’ll try, I will, but…’_

Will there ever be such a thing as lasting peace for House Galvus?

Will there ever be true safety for _him_?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you're wondering what the hell is going on here, Lucius is having a dream about bargaining for peace with Varis and being completely unaware that Varis is possessed by an Ascian. That's why Varis's dialogue is so OOC.


End file.
